Dead God's Due

by Matthew P Gilbert

  Kariana couldn’t contain her grief. A sob burst from her, and she lay her head against the door for support. “Must it be so?” she choked. “Why can’t we just forget about everything? Tasinal, Amrath, Aswan, all of them, they fought one another like beasts at times, and they got past things. Why can’t we?”

  Aiul slammed a fist against the door. It was solid enough that she didn’t even feel the blow, but the sound was enough to make her spring back. When she looked through the slot again, he had bowed his head and covered his eyes with his hand. “Too much has passed.”

  “It wasn’t me, Aiul! I swear it! It wasn’t!”

  Aiul lowered his hand and stared at her, considering. “You swore before Mei you would kill us both.”

  “But it was just words! You said it yourself, I was out of my head! I didn’t mean it!”

  “And someone just happened to attack Lara just after that.” He glared at her through the slot, but he seemed less certain, for all his display.

  Yes! Someone willing to frame me with her crime because she so disapproves of her son marrying a commoner!

  But the truth would undo any progress she had made with him. He would never believe her. He would accuse her of being a monster to try to turn him against his own mother. Better to seem stupid. At least it was what was expected of her so it would ring true. “Yes.”

  Aiul’s glare softened. “I don’t believe you. I want to, I really do, for what we had long ago. But I can’t. Do you understand?”

  Kariana laid her head against the door again and wept softly. “I won’t accept it!”

  “What was it that cocky bastard Prandil told Maralena?” Aiul asked. “‘You can retreat into self-delusion at will’?” He laughed softly.

  Kariana giggled through her tears. “It’s all I have. I’d be dead if I just accepted things.”

  “Yes, Kariana, I think you would.”

  Kariana sniffled. “I know.” She looked at his beautiful eyes through the slot again, not trying to hide her emotion anymore. “Will you at least try to believe me?”

  Aiul’s eyes narrowed. “You are empress, Kariana. You have much power, as you are just beginning to see. If it is as you say, you can use that power to find the real culprit. Have your man Caelwen bring him to me with his proof. We both know that statue would rather be buried alive than frame an innocent man. Do that, and I’ll bend a knee to you before all Nihlos.”

  “That’s not what I wanted. That was the elders. I just want you to believe me. And one other thing.”

  Aiul said nothing, merely waited for her to continue.

  Kariana took a deep breath. “I want you to tell me the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “That you loved me then, and you still do. Don’t you dare mock Caelwen for his ‘duty and honor’ when you stand on the same ceremony.”

  Aiul turned away quickly, but not before she caught the trapped look in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do. I’ve taken enough men to my bed to know the difference between one doing his duty and one who wants to be there. It came back to you, just like it came back to me.”

  Aiul slammed his fist against the door again, but this time she didn’t flinch. He turned away, refusing to meet her gaze, his jaw clenched. “I’m married!”

  “I’m not asking you to leave her. I’m not asking you to be with me. I just want to hear you say it.”

  Aiul remained silent for long moments. When, at last, he spoke, his voice was husky with emotion. “Prove your truth to me. Then we’ll talk of mine.”

  Lara stood at the door to the prison, trembling with rage. How stupid could they be? They were in a prison! It was designed for voices to carry! Or perhaps they had grown so bold they no longer cared if the guard heard. If it hadn’t been for her ‘anonymous’ friend, there would be nothing to fear, would there?

  It was true. All true. What a fool she had been!

  The guard laid a hand on her shoulder. “I think you should come back some other time, madam. This can’t end well.”

  Lara ground her teeth in fury, and nodded. “I guess you’re right.” She eyed the heavy brass candlestick that hung by the door. “Could you help me with my bag? I’m feeling a little dizzy. It’s the pregnancy.”

  The guard nodded, offering her a sympathetic smile, and bent to pick up her bag. Lara reached up, snatched the candlestick from the wall and crashed it against his head, sending him to the ground in a heap. The candle, still lit, flew across the room, bounced off the wall, and spun furiously on the stone floor before settling.

  She bent to retrieve his keys. There was a lot of blood. Was he breathing? She decided she didn’t much care. One murder, two, or three? What did it matter? She unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway, clutching the candlestick like a lifeline. She imagined how it would feel as it crashed into Tasinalta’s skull, the sound it would make, like an overripe melon being dropped on the floor.

  She smiled darkly as she closed the door behind her. No guards would be interrupting this dance.

  She wanted Tasinalta all to herself.

  Kariana knew something was wrong as soon as she heard the door open. She didn’t know what, precisely, but it was bad. No one should be here. Suddenly, she regretted ditching Caelwen. Someone had forged the letter from Aiul. Perhaps it was a trap.

  Aiul’s eyes cut toward the door. “Who is it?”

  Oh, no! No! No!

  He could see the look on her face, she was certain of it. His eyes grew wide. “Who is it?”

  Lara, dressed in a simple nightgown, her belly large with child, held the candlestick high, like a headsman’s ax. She wore a cruel, sidelong smile, and her eyes glittered with madness, malice, and murder. “Your man gave you up, whore! Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  Kariana blinked in confusion. “Find out what?”

  Aiul pounded vainly against the door. “Lara! It’s not what you think!”

  A cruel laugh burst from Lara, short, almost a bark. “You don’t even know what I think.”

  It would have been nice to talk, to work things out but Lara was apparently in no mood. Without warning, she rushed Kariana, swinging the candlestick. Kariana threw up her hands to shield her head, a little too late to fully block the blow, but enough to blunt it. Pain ripped her, poured on the crown of her skull and rolled down her face like molten lead, hot, heavy, liquid. She noted with detachment that, as much as it hurt, it was all very confusing. Attacking first definitely has enormous advantages.

  Aiul was screaming something, but it was muffled. Kariana couldn’t be certain what, and did it matter? This had, in fact, all been a trap, hadn’t it? The two of them cooked it up together. Get her here, then have the pregnant woman finish the job and claim she was mad with raging hormones or something. Probably, Narelki would even defend her against the charges. Such irony.

  Lara seemed to be moving in slow motion, spittle flying from her lips as she screamed incoherently, no words, just sounds of blind fury. Her face was so contorted with rage that she looked demonic. Or maybe that’s just the blow to my head. The candlestick was gone. Kariana felt hands tightening around her throat, and motion, and heard a clunking sound. Oh, that would be your head impacting against the floor, fool.

  She wondered how it was going to feel to die. It would have been nice to fight back, but her body wasn’t cooperating. Even if it had, she was outmatched. Lara was no old woman or soft little spy from House Prosin. She was half again Kariana’s size, and hard, a commoner who likely had to fight often as a child. She’s probably killed dozens.

  It was instinct rather than thought that sent her hand snaking into her blouse once again for Sadrik’s dagger. Black spots danced before her eyes as the last of her breath burned out in her veins. Her hands seemed to act of their own accord, clumsy, the dagger blade pointing in the wrong direction as she brought it to Lara’s throat. Lara leered down at her, triumphant, spittle still dripping from her mouth, now a
ravenous maw.

  Fine. I can adapt. With the last of her strength, Kariana hammered the butt of the dagger into the bridge of Lara’s nose, once, twice, three times. I must remember to thank Sadrik again for this. It’s the most useful gift I’ve ever received.

  Her vision had faded to full black by now, but the hands around her throat fell away. Kariana sucked in air in great gasps, blind. She had no idea where Lara was, no idea if her vision would even return.

  Kariana shivered in fear, waiting for the next blow.

  It all happened so quickly that Aiul could barely make sense of it. Lara was out of her head, raving. She hit Kariana with a candlestick and then started choking her. Kariana hit Lara with something. They were both reeling now, both bleeding. It didn’t look too bad, though.

  Aiul kicked at the door with all his might, but it was useless. “Stop it, both of you!”

  Lara groaned in pain and struggled to her feet. She wiped the blood from her lips with the back of her hand and growled like a dog.

  Kariana was clearly having difficulty seeing, and she was gasping and heaving, trying to catch her breath. She turned toward the sound of Lara’s voice and slashed the air with a small knife. Where had that come from?

  Aiul pounded his fist against the door again. “Don’t do this! It’s madness!”

  They circled one another slowly, Kariana trying to buy time while her vision and breath returned. Lara seemed to sense this and charged headlong into a vicious slash. The knife cut through her thigh, drawing a stream of blood, but Lara didn’t seem to notice. She tackled Kariana with her full weight and bore the tiny woman to the floor beneath her, one hand reaching for the knife, the other scrambling across Kariana’s face, fingers clawing at eyes like a crab pinching its prey.

  Kariana bit at Lara’s hand and somehow managed to wriggle out from beneath her. It was both hands for both women now as they fought over the weapon, screaming, rolling about the floor, hissing, spitting. Sometimes, Lara had control of the knife, at other times, Kariana. Blood flew each time the weapon changed hands. The floor grew slick with it, and the air reeked of copper and sweat.

  Aiul screamed at them to stop, his voice growing ragged, but it was useless. He had no part in this play. He was simply a captive audience. His words, like theirs, lost all sense of meaning, became nothing but sounds expressing fear, rage, and denial, a song of conflict, struggle, and loss.

  They all sang, all danced to the savage tune. Aiul hammered himself against the door over and over, his shoulders, his feet, his fists, his head. There was blood here now, too, inside, as he grew more frantic. He felt his own bones crack under the impact. Flame filled his throat, his heart, his mind, but he had no power to change anything.

  So much pain, and yet he was numb when the moment came. Their struggles, their flailing and rolling on the floor, was the cast of a die. It tumbled. They tumbled. Over and over. Six. Two. Five. One.

  Kariana. Lara. Kariana. Lara. Lara.

  Kariana was on top when the die came to rest. Aiul could no longer move or scream. He simply watched as she raised the wicked blade high and plunged it into Lara’s chest.

  He could have understood this. He truly could have. Kariana was in stark, raving terror, mortal fear. Lara had tried to murder her. It was only natural that she defend herself. He could have forgiven the first stab. Even the second. They were terrible wounds, and to his eye, likely mortal, but there was a chance. If nothing else, perhaps he could save their child.

  But he could not forgive the third or the fourth. Or the twentieth. Lara was long dead, and his child as well, and still Kariana stabbed at them.

  Numb. He knew the pain was there. He could find it, if he focused, agony of body and of soul, yet he was distracted. There was a noise in his mind, in his ears, an odd sound that he couldn’t place. It grew louder and more insistent, drawing his attention away from Kariana’s madness.

  For all the world, it sounded like crows.

  Caelwen ground his teeth as the slave from House Noril fumbled with the prison door key. Kariana was still screaming, struggling with someone. He could wait no longer. He snatched the key from the slave and shoved him aside. “Give me that, idiot!”

  The slave staggered backward and tripped over the corpse of the prison guard. He raised a sticky, crimson hand from the floor and wailed in horror.

  “Shut up with that mewling!” Caelwen shouted as he turned the key in the lock and swung the door open. “Go and tell my men I’ve found her and to come at once!”

  The slave was only too happy to beat a hasty retreat. Caelwen looked about for a doorstop, found none, and settled for dragging the dead guard against the heavy door. He had no intention of being locked in, and this fellow could hardly complain. Caelwen drew his sword and charged into the hallway.

  He didn’t get far before he realized that, whatever had passed here, it was over. Tasinalta was the victor, but she was severely wounded. There was blood everywhere, and Tasinalta was still stabbing at her victim’s mangled corpse. He felt his gut twist in horror as he recognized Lara.

  He slid his blade back into its scabbard as he approached. Tasinalta looked up at him with mad eyes, barely recognizing him, but she slowed and then stopped her arm. Her hair and face were crusted with drying blood. Pink foam bubbled from her lips and ran down her chin.

  Caelwen reached out a hand. “Empress, let me help you.”

  Tasinalta’s eyes narrowed “Assassins!” she shrieked. “Assassins everywhere!”

  She sprung toward him, stabbing at him with the dagger, but his mail turned her blows well enough. He grabbed her flailing arms and pinned them to her sides. “Enough! You are safe now!”

  She seemed not to hear him. She was struggling so violently, she was certain to injure herself. He had little choice. He brought his fist up in a swift strike to her jaw, and she immediately collapsed. Choice or no, he had to admit, it was hardly unpleasant.

  “Mei,” he cursed. “What have you done now?”

  “Come to me, boy.”

  Ahmed heard the voice, but he did not feel like responding. He continued to dig in the sand with his toy shovel, insolent and rebellious. The sun beat down, it’s heat intense on the top of his head, but it pleased him to ignore it.

  “Come to me now!”

  Ahmed threw the shovel down and folded his arms across his chest. “No. I am busy.”

  Pain exploded in his ear as a fist struck the side of his head.

  “I did not ask you, boy. I commanded you.”

  Angry, Ahmed clutched a hand to the side of his head and looked up and up. Yazid stood over him, glowering, ten feet tall, twenty, maybe even a hundred. How could a boy know? About them burned the desert, wind blowing fiercely, sand stinging his skin. The sands extended to the horizon, unbroken by buildings, trees, or water.

  Yazid reached down, a glowing blade that burned like flame in his outstretched hand. “Take it.”

  Ahmed refused. “I am too small. I cannot use a man’s sword!”

  “You will take it, or you will wear the imprint of my fist on the other side of your head, too!”

  Sullen and full of resentment, Ahmed raised his hand for the blade, knowing it simply wouldn’t fit his hand, and yet, as his fingers wrapped around the hilt, it did somehow. His mood soared as he held the blade aloft, marveling at the play of the light it cast. Shadows rippled over the sand, wriggling like worms.

  “It falls to you now. Ilaweh will guide you.”

  Ahmed looked back to see Yazid was gone. He cast about frantically, feeling lost. The light from the blade was fading, and the darkness drew in around him, barely held back. “Father! What falls to me? What?”

  The voice called again, far away now, as the wind whipped the sand into a scouring blast that Ahmed felt would strip the skin from him. “Everything.”

  The flames on the blade guttered, then died completely. The winds rose to a shriek, and the darkness rushed in on Ahmed like waters rushing into a sinking ship.

&nb
sp; He awoke with a start and nearly fell from his hammock. Stupid thing! I hate it! Better to sleep on the floor.

  It was nearly dark in the small room he shared with Yazid, but a small beam of light slipped past the privacy curtain. The light flickered, shadowed by moving people. Voices tight with alarm rang out and were answered.

  Ahmed snatched the curtain aside.

  Brutus stood outside, looking haggard and thin. Blood covered his armor, his hands, was dried on his face.

  Ahmed tried to hold back a sob as the knowledge filled his mind, but he wasn’t entirely successful. “Yazid?” he choked, already knowing.

  Brutus shook his head slowly and laid a great hand on Ahmed’s shoulder. His grip was iron, but brought no pain, only comforting strength. “I swear to you, boy, we will avenge him. When the prince hears of this, he will give me a mighty army. We will return to these barbarians and crush them beneath our boots!”

  Ahmed clutched at Brutus’s hand, blinking against tears and nodding. It was wrong, this notion of killing them all. Some other time, he would have been able to find mercy for the weak. But not now.

  Now, he wanted only their blood.

  Epilogue

  Not Fire

  Sadrik struck a sinister pose in the full-length mirror, considering the visual effect. He was pleased with the robe, a red-and-black silk affair. Power colors, surely. He brushed at a stray hair on his brow, careful to maintain his stern expression. Yes, it was just the right look, a mix of contempt and detachment. It came naturally to him, but given that he was performing, he wanted to be certain.

  It had been an eventful season, one full of heart-stopping crises. His idiot cousin seemed determined to get herself killed, and then who would they tap to rule? He had barely managed to escape that fate the last time a cousin had kicked off. He had no intention of being placed in that situation again, not if he could help it.